Moments
by Wind Alias
Summary: A series of moments following Kyo and Yuki. KyoxYuki
1. Cold Kisses

**Disclaimer**: I own neither Fruits Basket or The Book Thief.

**Author's Notes**: Recently I read the Book Thief, and I couldn't help but see Yuki and Kyo here when they were younger. Blame the fangirl in me. So I wrote them in, and changed things up, respectively. I think I'll make this a six-chapter Drabble that shows different periods in their lives, up to old age. Hmm. Maybe.

**A Side Note**: I have no idea what they are actually supposed to be doing at this age. And let's say that some very mean Sohma children threw the book in the water. It's a to **CullenCovenGirl88**: Here's the KyoYuki, just for you.

**XXXoXXX**

"How about a kiss, stupid?"

He stands waist-deep in the biting December water. He stands with his fists on his hips, triumphant and smug, even though his teeth chatter like gunfire. His pants cling to his small frame. He fights the painful numb as it begins seeping into him. Just a kiss.

Kyo Sohma just wants one kiss.

The other eight year old on the bank slides down the grassy side, stands quickly so as to avoid the water the other is plagued by. He is beautiful; he is made of moonlight and silver strands and ice.

Yuki Sohma just wants his book.

"Don't call me stupid, stupid!" he retorts, dainty feet positioned just on the edge of the bank as he desperately leans forward. "Give it! I want it back!"

The other boy laughs, but he walks forward anyways. He is cold, so, so cold.

"What is this, anyways?" he says. Wet fingers caress the thick hide of the book. It is white and red, with silver tassels.

"It doesn't matter! Just give it to me, please!" he is desperate. His tiny heart was beating fast.

Kyo Sohma reaches the edge with the other boy. He is taller, so when Yuki reaches, he can't quite take the book from him.

"How about a kiss, stupid?"

He loves him. So terribly, terribly much. He loves him so much he was scared of it. At eight, the feelings were strange and awkward, like slightly melted silly-putty. He loves him so incredibly hard that when the beautiful boy pushes him to the bank, and straddles him, all he can do is gulp.

The other boy snorts and rips the book from the other boy's chest. "I would thank you for saving my stolen book, but I don't think you deserve it. Moron," he adds, stalking up the hill angrily. He doesn't look back.

Kyo watches him go. At eight years of age he was in love. He longed for a kiss so much that if Yuki ever said yes he wouldn't know what to do. He loved him so, so much.

So much that he would never wish for those delicate lips again and would die without them.


	2. Sickly Seasons

**Disclaimer:** No.

**Author's Note:** This is really late. And I mean really, really late. I had meant for this to be put up weeks ago, but that obviously didn't happen. Also dedicated to CullenCovenGirl88.

**XXoXX**

He loved spring. It was when the world was at the peak of its longevity, the pinnacle of health. Everything was green, and fresh, and new and alive.

He was a different story.

Young Yuki sat quietly beside the bedside window. He sucked in air greedily, inhaling the scent of life, caressed it, tasted it. His fingers itched to open the window more and let the subtle smell of life devour the overbearing odor of sickness. He wanted it so badly he might have cried.

But he didn't open the window, and he did not cry. At ten years old, crying was no longer an option for the young Sohma, and opening the window further was also not an option. Akito had strictly forbidden it.

Pale digits curled involuntarily into the plush blankets. Young Yuki's lips pressed together. He didn't _have_ to listen; he was the only one here, after all. Who could stop him? Besides, it was just a window. Such is the self assuring of the young mind.

Set in his decision, Yuki Sohma lifted the window.

Relief set into him immediately. Green tendrils of life whisked through the window, extended themselves towards him, tore the web of sickness away from his face. Nostrils cleared, Yuki sucked in another breath.

And got a face full of dirt.

Yuki recoiled backwards, furiously slapping away chunks of terra firma. Grinning, fists on his hips and legs spaced with a sort of firm determination that only the young possess, stood a certain orange haired child.

"Hey," he said simply, grinning like a madman graced with an axe.

"'Hey'?" Yuki repeated, mouth gaping opn. " You throw a clod of dirt into my window, hit me in the face, and all you have to say to me is 'Hey'?"

Kyo scratched his head thoughtfully, swaying slightly as he did so. Then he glanced back up at the other boy, and flashed a rather sharp set of pearly whites, and said:

"Yeah, pretty much. That dirt really suits you," he snickered, liveliness brightening up his voice.

Yuki stared at him. He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly shut it tight as breeze fluttered by him.

Still staring, still watching, it was then that Yuki Sohma realized just how different he was from the other boy.

Bare footed, brown toes digging into the soft, warm earth. Sunlight ran down tanned arms, adorned honey-hued shoulders, supple back barely covered by a small, threadbare shirt. Bare knees winked at him, tendons stretched and firm. Life and energy stretched across him, consumed him.

He was life.

Stuck in his window, this realization hurt him, and it hurt him deeply. What hurt him most was that he wanted him. He wanted the life, the energy. Something new struck him.

He decided to hate him.

If he couldn't have life, then he would hate it.

Yuki muttered some unremarkable remark, closed the window to Kyo's loud protest, and accepted with gracious arms the thick web of sickness.

He wanted life. He wanted it, so much. So much that it burned his cerebellum whenever he was around the youth, tantalized his skin, made his heart flutter when he came near. Those feelings of intense want amplified by the anger and self-claimed hate swelled and burned within him.

It didn't occur to him that he may want Kyo as well.


	3. Catharsis Skies

**Disclaimer: **Nope.

**Author's Note: **Uhm... I was supposed to have finished this story last year. ._." But I never really thought about it...For those of you who actually read it, I'm terribly sorry.

**Note: **This is a very confusing chapter. Be warned. This is the first thing I've written for at least a month and a half. I apologize in advance.

**xxoxxoxx**

**Moments Chapter Three**

**Catharsis Skies**

**xxoxxoxx**

* * *

_By the time they were twelve, it was already too late._

* * *

Kyo Sohma stood at the window, small face pressed against the crystal pane. The sky was broken glass, each streak of rain a new crack on its surface.

And yet, somehow, it was him that felt shattered.

Why, you ask?

His dilema, like most things, starts with words.

* * *

"Creep."

"Wierdo."

_"Freak!"_

It's the last one that hurts. He flinches, and his fingers dig like furious worms into the earth. Every part of him fluctuates, radiating anger and fear in short, sharp spurts.

Hard leather digs at his neck; his face moves with the direction of the foot, and his cheek slaps against the cold, wet ground. Mud and blood intermingle on his lips.

"Hey, kitty kitty," comes a snicker, and he recognizes it as Oro Sohma, a big teen of sixteen. "Say sorry and I'll let you up. Whaddya say, kitty? _Huh_?"

Kyo opens his mouth to release a string of curses, but the only thing that trickles from his lips is mud.

"Lookit that, Oro! He's shaking! The little pussy's _shaking!_"

It was true. He _is_ shaking. He _is_ scared. He bites his lip, pushing his face further into the ground to hide the involuntary flow of tears.

He was scared.

_So, so scared._

"Fuck off." he forces out. Cringing slightly, he brings his fingers up, worming them under the Oro's heel to push the shoe off his neck. Getting to his feet takes him longer than he would have liked, but he manages.

The boys, now a small circle of bad intentions, howl mockingly. "You hear that, Oro?" they snicker. "He thinks he's tough! He thinks he's going to wipe the floor with you!"

Their words are all the incentive Oro needs.

It was a exquisitely planned jab to the stomach that sends Kyo sprawling first. Then Oro has him by his hair, white fingers tearing at red strands like blood on milk, and he slams him down, nose colliding with the dirt, only to be brought back up for a swift knee to the rib cage.

"He's out," Oro smirks, wiping mud from his cheeks. "He's not getting up."

But he does. With a grunt, and then a snarl, Kyo Sohma sways onto his feet a changed man.

Gone now were the tears.

His left eye is shut and swelling by the second, his nose leaks crimson, and his fists tremble like a new born lamb.

The boys laugh again, but this time it is subdued, less certain. "What was that, Oro?" they tease, now poking at the incredulous teen. "You can't even beat a little kid? A brat? A _pussy?"_

The vein in Oro's forehead bulges, and the ice of his blue eyes hardens as he charges.

This time, when he swings, he was going to make sure Kyo stayed there.

His fist swings over his target in botched shot, but it was perfect for Kyo. Bringing his arms up he wraps them around Oro's elbow and jerks downwards, smashing the elbow against his knobby knee, a solid hit. Oro flinches back, and Kyo briefly entertains the idea that the teen might retreat.

A spark wgoes off in his brain as a fist clips his chin, sending him reeling. He barely has time for a ragged breath before the fists were upon him, smashing him again and again in his eyes, stomach, mouth; anywhere they could land.

_Red._

_Blue._

_Black._

The spectrum of pain was astounding.

This time the boys were quiet. Waiting. Watching. Daring him to get up.

And what did he do?

Did he lay there and cry, like he wanted to?

Did he go still, like they expected?

Of course he didn't.

Because Kyo Sohma is a soul that lives to defy.

Biting his tongue, tasting the rusty, black, earthy taste of blood in his mouth.

Hearing the blood pounding in his ears.

Kyo stands.

And then they are angry. Snarling, gnashing their teeth together they glared down at him, this boy who would not stay down.

"What's going on here?"

Like a pendulum, their heads swung, even Kyo straining to look.

Red clashes with purple.

His heart stops.

"Oh, it's just Yuki," Oro exhales, relief spreading along his features. "Hey, you wanna help us out here?" He jabs his thumb at a wide-eyed Kyo. " He won't stay down. "

The group hoots in agreement, eager to see blood. The tall boy steps forward, and Kyo is struck with how undeniably beautiful he has become.

His face has lengthened out to match the wideness of his eyes, and melted silver sheen of his hair has become softer, more dignified. He's tall; very, very tall, with long, graceful legs that Kyo can't even dream of having.

He's beautiful.

_So, so beautiful._

And he loves him.

And although Kyo's body feels like it is full of fire, _like it has been consumed by it_, there isn't even an inkling of warmth in Yuki's eyes as the silver and lilac orbs settle on him.

And when he steps forward, there is still no warmth to him; only the frost of fear that seizes Kyo's heart.

And when he glances at Oro and nods slightly, he is devoid of all feeling.

And when that first punch, that first rod of contact is made, he feels only ice.

"_Stay down. Please."_

It is a whisper for him, but he does not hear it.

And then, he feels nothing at all.

* * *

_By the time they were twelve, it was already too late._

_Things have changed._

_Where once there was warmth and laughter there is only hate and animosity between them._

_Kyo would like to believe he doesn't love him anymore._

_But he does. And he hates it. Because he's always taking the fall. He's always getting hurt. And he's sick of it._

_But he loves him._

_And he always will._

* * *

"Kyo."

The youth turns, eyes slowly ungluing themselves from the glass.

Yuki stands in the doorway.

In his hands are flowers.

Somewhere distantly, there is the sound of breaking glass.

Kyo's heart hurts.

Gone from Yuki is the confidence from before. Now, standing before Kyo, he looks like a porcelain doll, fragile and in desperate need of a glass shelter.

_Too bad you already broke my heart._

His legs are stiff, and awkward, but he progresses forward nonetheless. The flowers are produced robotically.

* * *

**What Yuki wants to say:** _I'm sorry. I had to do it. Otherwise, they would have beaten you all day._

**What comes out: **"Next time, I won't be there to save your sorry ass."

* * *

Yuki speaks coldly, gaze indifferent.

And then?

Something in Kyo _snaps._

"Who the _hell_," he says, "do you think you are?" His voice shakes, grabbing Yuki by the mouth. The anger is thick and dangerous and threatens to consume him, but he doesn't care. "I was getting beaten out there. Beaten like - like a dog. Like a mongrel. Like _trash_. And that's all you can say to me? _After you helped them do it?_ 'I won't be there to save your ass next time'? _Fuck_ you! I thought we were friends!"

_I thought that, maybe, we could be more._

There is an apology, there, at the tip of Yuki's tongue. He can taste it: sorrow and salt on his tongue.

But he swallows it.

"You thought we were friends? Princes don't mingle with lepers. So why would I do the same with you? _Cat."_

It's a low-blow; he knows this. But his blood is pumping, and venom courses through his veins.

The pain is evident on Kyo's face.

"Get out," Kyo hisses. He clenches the flowers in his fists.

Yuki is only too happy to oblige.

Later, when the anger has faded from him, Kyo looks down at his clenched fists. Trickles of blood spatter his palms from where the thorned stems had dug into his skin. Looking up, he realizes the flowers are roses.

Twelve beautiful red roses wrapped in ribbon. Tied at the base is a card. It is blank, but he can still the scratches and futile erase marks and the faint, grey outline of two huge words.

_I'm sorry._

That night, when he cries, it feels like the sky cries with him.

* * *

_By the time they were twelve, it was already too late._

_Kyo was madly, madly in love with him._

_There is no going back._


End file.
